


Shoulder

by rellkelltn87



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Carisi says what we're all thinking, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s19e24 Remember Me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 12:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rellkelltn87/pseuds/rellkelltn87
Summary: What happens after the events of "Remember Me." Olivia Benson is tired.





	Shoulder

In the middle of the crisis, she knew that the harder she pushed, the more likely it was that the nightmares would return. The harder she pushed, the more _certain_ it was that the nightmares would double, triple, surge back full-force into her unconscious and stick around for months. She knew she shouldn’t push so hard, she knew it right there, in the middle of it all, but she had an officer’s life on the line and a victim whose word nobody was going to believe. She had people to advocate for. She had to push through, no matter the nightmares.

The nightmares hadn’t yet had time to re-infest her psyche when she found herself comforting Lourdes, who might never be free or safe, and then Peter Stone, who broke down, sobbing into her shoulder. Here were the roles she’d somehow settled into: advocate, fixer, fearless leader, (forehead to kiss when friends and lovers “found themselves” and decided to move on to something new), hostage negotiator, shoulder to cry on. 

Retirement might be a good 50th birthday present to herself. 

Herself. She pushed forward, back into the precinct, back to the squad room. Forward, forward, forward to Carisi’s desk.

“Lieu.” He stood from his chair. “We are —“

“We’re done?” She could hear the hoarseness in her own voice.

“Done.”

“Good. I’m going home to my kid.” She took a congested breath and headed to her office. Carisi followed close behind. “Something you need, detective?”

“Sorry. I’ll leave you alone in a second. But mind if I ask where you were?”

“Centre Street. Stone’s a mess.”

“Yeah. About that.”

“What is it, Carisi?” She closed the door behind her, crossed the office, and flopped into her desk chair. “You have one minute. Noah’s going to be asleep by the time I get home anyway.”

“You went over there to give him a piece of your mind, I hope.”

“He’s a mess. He just witnessed —“

“You were _comforting_ him?”

She knew what he was going to say, and she in fact agreed wholeheartedly with what he had not yet said, an observation she’d pushed to the back of her mind because how could you not sympathize with a man who’d just seen his sister killed in a shootout? What kind of coldhearted person would —

“Cards on the table, Lieutenant, he doesn’t deserve any comfort from you or anybody else. From the time we knew the cartels were involved, this was a federal case. What was he doing not recusing himself after they threatened the sister? What we just saw out there was a woman get shot because her brother wouldn’t let go of a fucking case — sorry, all right, sorry — that wasn’t even his to begin with.”

She grabbed her handbag, stood up, and patted Carisi’s back. “Go home, take the day tomorrow.”

“Lieu, Pamela Stone never should have been involved. We lost her and four officers because Stone wouldn’t recuse himself from a case he never should have been on in the first place.”

“I know,” she said, keeping a hand on Carisi’s back as she led him to the squad room, where Rollins had returned to her desk. “How’re you holding up, Amanda?” she asked.

“How about you?”

She twisted her lips and offered up a shrug. “Are you all right, though? Must have been scary holed up in that hotel room when you found out —“

“Stop that. Go home.”

“Okay.” She took another breath. She’d go home, pay Lucy for the week, check in on Noah, maybe sleep, if sleep promised to be dreamless. 

Carisi was right.

But. 

She was the shoulder to cry on, the forehead to kiss, the lieutenant who could hold her own so well that she never needed a shoulder herself, the leader who walked into hostage situations, the woman left alone on a cold Manhattan street like in an old movie, over and over, episodic, and how ready, _how ready_ she was on that night to retire. 

Her 50th birthday present to herself. 

Maybe. 

She could move on. She and Noah could move on. 

Still, it wasn’t a good night for making decisions. She’d sleep on it, if any part of her body let her. 

When she opened the door to her apartment, she saw Lucy sitting at the kitchen counter, talking to none other than Rafael Barba. To hell with Barba if he’d come here to cry on her shoulder.

This was the second time she’d seen him in the 3 1/2 months since he’d left the DAs office. Eight weeks ago, just after she’d been gut punched by the news that Harry Lonegan died waiting for the heart transplant that her decision to follow the letter of the law had denied him, Barba showed up at Forlini’s. He’d come to tell her that he was thinking about taking a job with a firm in Miami.

That encounter hadn’t gone well.

_"How many times are you going to show up to tell me you’re leaving?” she’d demanded._

_He’d tried to explain himself. “Just go,” she said through her teeth._

“Liv.” His green eyes looked up at her. He had a lot more gray patches in his hair than she remembered.

“I’m sorry, Olivia,” Lucy said, “Mr. Barba showed up an hour ago and I thought you were on your way home.”

“It’s fine.” She dug into her purse, unzipped an inner pocket, and passed an envelope to Lucy. “For the week.”

“Thanks. Noah’s been asleep since 8:45.”

“Okay.” She looked over at Barba, and then at the clock on the microwave, which told her in was now 10PM. Lucy gathered her things and left. Barba, who’d apparently brought nothing with him other than the jeans and polo shirt he was wearing, slid off the stool where he’d been sitting. 

“Stupid idea,” he said, flashing her a quick smile.

“Yes.”

“You probably wouldn’t have picked up if I called.”

“Probably not.”

He closed the space between them in two steps. As he ran a hand up and down her forearm, his eyes worked desperately to read hers.

“You’re tired,” he said.

“I’m tired.” Her voice cracked. “I’m retiring from NYPD.”

“You? Before you’re 85?”

“I’m tired, Rafa.”

“I turned down the job offer in Miami.”

“Please don’t tell me you want to talk about it. I don’t have the strength to talk anybody through anything else tonight.”

“No.” His eyes were still reading hers. “No. What do you need?”

She hung her head and a few tears escaped, unexpectedly. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and for a split second she cried into his. But she stopped herself. She was the shoulder everyone cried on. She could not luxuriate in the same. She knew better. As soon as she found comfort, he’d leave.

He dipped his head to catch her gaze again. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just go.”

“Liv.” He ran his fingers delicately through her hair. She was reminded of the day Noah was kidnapped, when he was the only one who’d held her, who caught her when she almost collapsed. “Liv, please.”

Gently, he nudged her head back towards his shoulder. She pressed her eyes into his shirt and let herself cry.


End file.
